


Life Without Monsters

by dustandroses



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Oz (TV)
Genre: Apocafic, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Character of Color, Community: oz_magi, Community: tamingthemuse, Crossover, M/M, Not comics compliant, POV: Ryan O'Reily, Post Chosen, Post NFA, Post Season Six, Post-Apocalypse, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miguel and Ryan have been running for a long time, and they're beginning to wonder if it's worth the struggle.  Things were a lot easier before the monsters showed up, even if they <i>were</i> in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarpedMinded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarpedMinded/gifts).



> **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for Part One taken from the Live Journal community Tamingthemuse prompt #389 - Coxswain  
>  **Notes:** Special thanks to Trillingstar and Ozsaur, my heroes and shit, for their support during the writing of this story.
> 
>  **WarpedMinded's Request:**  
>  **Pairing/Character(s):** Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily(Preferred) - or - Beecher Keller  
>  **Keyword/Prompt Phrase:** The Apocalypse (Any kind you want)  
>  **Canon/AU/Either: AU**  
>  **Special Requests:** slash, CROSSOVER with the included pairing IF possible - Supernatural (Dean/Cas), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Spike/Xander) - OR - Firefly (Mal/Wash). Can have both B/K and M/R pairing, if you want. Take it anyway you want to.  
>  **Story/Art/Either:** story

Ryan shoved the door closed behind them, wedging a broken board underneath to keep it shut. He kicked it hard, glad for the steel toes of the work boots he’d liberated from some dead guy on the SORT team before they left Oz. He’d liberated the guy’s Glock, too, but the 9mm didn’t suit him, so he’d traded up to a pair of Glock .45s the first chance he got. With danger surrounding them on every side, he needed the extra punch a .45 offered. One last kick and the board was in as far as he could get it. The wedge wouldn’t last long, but it would give them some time. There didn’t seem to be any other doors, but there were hallways that led in two directions, and he wondered which way was best to go.

There wasn’t much left of the room he was in, part of the ceiling had collapsed from several floors up, and was currently a rather large pile of trash on the floor. There was a bed sticking out of the hole above the pile, tipped precariously and slowly tilting back and forth like a seesaw in the faint breeze. Ryan stepped farther away from the whole thing, just in case. The rest of the room was the usual abandoned hotel lobby, full of crap that wasn’t going to help them fend off the two huge creatures currently tracking them. 

Alvarez was nowhere to be seen. He’d been right in front of Ryan when they ducked into this hotel, hoping the monsters that had been following them might not realize where they’d gone. Fat chance. The two had been following them all morning, their steady, monotonous tread slowly advancing on them, never stopping. They knew exactly where Ryan and Alvarez went, no matter where they went. Either they had some kind of psychic powers that told them where their prey was, or they were following Ryan and Alvarez’ scent, like butt-ugly, overgrown bloodhounds. Either way, Ryan had the feeling that he and Alvarez were totally fucked. 

He didn’t think they could get away this time. He’d gone through all his options, and he was so tired of all the running they’d done in the last year that a part of him was almost glad that it looked like this might be their last stand. The problem was Alvarez. The thought of those bastards chomping on Alvarez made Ryan sick to his stomach. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten today. If he had, it might have come back up again at that thought. Alvarez was all that kept him going.

The guy in question came through the door on Ryan’s right, running hard. He was clutching his stomach with the hand his flashlight was in, the light flashing over the walls and what was left of the ceiling. He grabbed Ryan’s arm, and kept moving, pulling him along. 

“What the hell?” Ryan didn’t fight him, if he was moving that fast, there was a good reason.

“They’re right behind me, keep moving!” He was gasping heavily, and Ryan worried about that gut wound. It had been getting better, but that was before these monsters had gotten their scent, and they’d had to push it hard just to stay alive.

He followed Alvarez down the other hallway, reluctantly pulling out his flashlight, ‘cause this direction was darker, no access to the sunlight that had illuminated the lobby through the hole in the ceiling. He hated to waste the batteries, they weren’t easy to find, these days. They twisted and turned through several dark corridors, choosing left or right randomly, every time their current direction came to an end.

At the end of a long, dark hallway they hit a dead end. The door in front of them said “Security” in large block letters. It looked pretty damn solid, and might offer some protection if they could get on the other side of it. The problem was it was locked. There was no time to back out and try another corridor, but it wouldn’t give to their shoulders, no matter how hard they shoved. 

“Come on, door! Let us in!” 

Ryan tried kicking near the lock, thinking that might work, but there was nothing, no give at all – the solid metal door jarred his leg all the way up to his hipbone. Alvarez checked the door further back up the hall on one side, and Ryan checked the other. That door gave way easily enough, but it was a dead end – an office with no windows, and no doors other than the one he’d used to get in. 

He met Alvarez in the hallway, but Alvarez was staring back the direction they’d come, where Ryan could hear the monsters moving. They destroyed everything in their path; Ryan could hear the walls giving way under their huge hands. They hadn’t run into this monster before, so they didn’t know much about their fighting skills or what it took to kill them, but their ability to track was damn good. They were at least a foot taller than Ryan, and he had an easy three inches on Alvarez. They were fucking huge. 

They found themselves backed up against the metal door, and Ryan felt the failure to keep Alvarez safe deep in his gut. “I’m sorry, man.”

“For what? None of this is your fault. It’s not mine, either. It’s just the roll of the dice, O’Reily. The whole world is fucked, maybe we’re better off out of it.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who wanted to come back to the city to see if I could find my mom or Aunt Brenda. We wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for me, and you never would have gotten that knife to the gut. 

“I meant to do better by you, but I dragged you down into the muck with me. The way I always do with those I…” He stopped, dropping his eyes, afraid even now to acknowledge his feelings. What if Alvarez didn’t feel that way toward _him_. He didn’t want to stick his heart out there for one last trampling before they died.

Alvarez looked at him surprised, as if he hadn’t stopped talking at all. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Ryan cringed, Jesus, this was what he’d been afraid of.

The door behind them made strange clicking and whirring noises, and they pulled back, their guns at the ready. It opened, and a dark haired guy with a black patch over one eye stared at them for a moment. He motioned with his head. “Get the hell in here before whatever it is you stirred up comes around that corner.”

Alvarez scrambled to get inside, but Ryan hesitated, not sure he could face Alvarez now. Alvarez reached out and grabbed Ryan by the collar, and dragged him inside.

“Hey!”

The patch guy slammed the door shut, sliding a large bar into slots built into the door, and clicked home four separate deadbolts. As solid as that metal door had been, the monsters tracking them would have a hard time getting through it. 

“What’s chasing you, do you know?” The guy was bent over, rummaging through a huge bag full of weapons, pulling out axes, and swords, and even a _crossbow_ , for Christ’s sake.

“How the hell would we know what they are?” Ryan asked, stunned by this latest development. “They’re monsters!”

Eyepatch stood up, a huge battleaxe in one hand as he considered them, judging them. Ryan’s face heated up. If that guy had heard what he’d said to Alvarez, why was he trying to help them? He might as well have shouted that he was a faggot to anyone who wanted to listen in. Had the guy heard? He knew they were being chased, he must have heard, but he was still helping them. Why? 

Muffled thumping noises came from a gray metal box beside the door, and Ryan realized it must be a speaker. Wires stuck out of the bottom that led down to one of those big lantern batteries that was sitting on the floor. That noise was obviously the pounding of the monster’s feet as they came up the hall. The guy with the patch held one finger to his lips, and Ryan nodded, he got the hint – no noise.

Alvarez shivered. Ryan wanted to take a look at Alvarez’ gut wound, but there was no time for that. Instead, he checked out the room they were in. It was a small office, with computers on two desks, and rows of screens on one wall. It was too small to defend themselves in. No room to swing the huge fucking axe the guy with the patch was carrying, or the swords he’d seen in the bag, and Ryan didn’t know anything about using a crossbow. They’d have to be careful with the guns, too; they’d rebound all over the place if they hit that heavy door.

Ryan pushed Alvarez toward the back wall, determined to defend Alvarez with his life, if that’s what it came down to. He tried to fight Ryan off, but then he swayed on his feet, and Ryan grabbed his arm, pulling him over to the office chair at the closest desk. He didn’t like it, but he sat down, clutching his gut. He was smart; he knew he’d just be a distraction if he tried to stay on his feet. 

There was a faint glow from an oil lamp on the desk closest to the door, so Ryan took advantage of the light to put out both his own, and Alvarez’ flashlights. Batteries were hard to find. He took Alvarez’ gun out and handed it to him, and he clutched it tightly and nodded. He pushed Ryan away, pointing at the door, one eyebrow raised, as if to warn him to keep his eye on the door and quit fussing. Ryan got the hint, and turned back to the door, and the guy at the speaker.

Eyepatch was listening carefully, but he had his eye focused on Ryan and Alvarez. He’d obviously seen Ryan fussing over Alvarez. He stared at Ryan appraisingly as he stood there, ready to defend Alvarez from whatever happened next. Ryan lifted his chin, holding his head high. He refused to hide the way he felt. Finally, the guy nodded at Ryan, and turned back to the door. He shifted his weight, and that was when Ryan noticed the wrap around his left foot. It looked as if he’d sprained his ankle. If he had to run for it, he’d be up shit creek.

An odd rumbling, snarling noise came through the speaker, and the guy’s eye widened in surprise. He quickly set the axe down, and pulled a submachine gun out of the bag, hands sure as he checked out the gun, and took off the safety. He trained it on the door. Everything else he’d pulled out of that bag had been antiquated and archaic, but the gun was well kept from what Ryan could tell. The guy knew his weapons.

The doorknob rattled and turned, but didn’t yield to the terrific tug the monsters gave it next. The metal bar was sturdy as the door was tested, but a couple of the slots the bar fit through bent slightly as they crashed into it. They kept it up for some time, the walls around the door shaking with the strength of the blows, the rumbling, snarling noises getting louder, and more angry sounding all the time. They hit the wall on one side, and although the plaster cracked, and some even fell down, the wall stayed firm. Ryan was surprised, but Eyepatch didn’t seem to be.

Finally, it looked like Eyepatch had had enough of waiting for the monsters to tire and give up. He put the safety on his machine gun and set it on the nearest desk, which made Ryan happy; he wasn’t really sure how good an aim a guy with one eye could be. Then Eyepatch pulled a tarp off a large pile of car batteries that had been sitting in the corner of the room. He attached wires to the door frame, and whispered to Ryan and Miguel.

“Stay away from the walls.”

Ryan nodded, pulling Alvarez’ chair forward so there was plenty of room between him and the back wall. It looked like the walls were reinforced with steel.

Eyepatch flicked a switch on a wooden board near the batteries, and the next time the monsters banged into the door, Ryan heard the sound of electricity sparking, and the smell of ozone filled the air. There was a loud squeal from the speaker, and Eyepatch smiled grimly. 

The monsters tested the door again, and then a third time, but finally, with one last angry roar, the sound of their feet pounding on the wooden floor got softer and softer. Ryan was about to speak, but Eyepatch held up a finger for silence, so he bit his tongue and waited. A couple of minutes later, a dinging sounded from behind Alvarez, who had his back to the wall.

“What the fuck, man?” Alvarez whispered. He looked over his shoulder, but the wall seemed solid from where Ryan stood.

There was a second ding, and Eyepatch relaxed. He clicked a button on the speaker, and the hissing noise it was putting out slowly faded away. Then he flicked the switch attached to the car batteries, and removed the wires from the doorframe. Ryan shoved his handgun in his pocket, and took a deep breath. They seemed to have survived this round, and he really hadn’t expected to make it this time. 

He blushed, remembering what he’d said to Alvarez, wishing that he could take it back, now. Alvarez obviously would have been happier without ever knowing, and they could have gone on as they had before. It was better than being alone, which he expected would happen sooner or later, now that Alvarez knew. 

“The guys following you,” Eyepatch said, “they have light gray skin, and long-ass, baggy faces with large, pointy ears?”

Ryan nodded, “and shiny, bald heads. You know ‘em?” 

“Well, not these specific guys, ‘cause the ones we’ve run up against are dead now. But yeah, I know the type. They’re called Jaarvleen Flesh Eaters, and they’re some of the nastiest buggers I’ve ever seen.” He packed the machine gun into one corner of his badass bag of weapons, and put the battleaxe on top. 

“Good trackers, they never lose the scent, and they’re very persistent. Fortunately, they have a very short memory, so now that they’ve gone, they’ll forget all about you.”

“Flesh eaters?” Alvarez shuddered. “That’s sick, man.”

“You all right, there?” Eyepatch was watching Alvarez closely. He turned to Ryan, motioning towards Alvarez with his head. “You might want to…”

Alvarez was tilting to one side, and Ryan had to scramble to grab him before he hit the floor. Eyepatch hobbled around the desk, and faced the back wall, doing something Ryan couldn’t see. There was a clicking noise, and the whole wall popped, like something had been holding it in place, and had suddenly let go. Eyepatch grabbed a handle, and pulled the wall back a few feet, like it was sliding along a track. Then he stepped into the gap, and pushed it, opening up the hole until Ryan was looking into a dark room that he never would have guessed was there. 

Eyepatch grabbed the lamp off the desk, and headed into the dark. The room slowly lit as he turned up the wick, filling the room with soft, golden light. Ryan tried to pick Alvarez up, but months of hunger and the adrenaline he could feel draining out of him left him struggling. He got his arms around Alvarez’ chest, and started to drag him into the room, but Eyepatch grabbed his legs, taking most of his weight, and led Ryan into a smaller room to the side of the main one. It was dark in there, but he could tell enough to know that Eyepatch was setting Alvarez down on a table of some sort.

A match flared, and Eyepatch pulled the chimney off an oil lamp long enough to light it, and give them enough light to see by. The room had originally been a dining room. The chairs were all pushed up against the wall, and the table was clean, at least compared with everything else Ryan was used to seeing these days. There wasn’t much else in the room, except for some long dresser-type thing up against one wall with rows of bandages and first aid supplies on top. 

“Stay here with him, we don’t want him turning over and falling off the table. I’ll start some water heating, you’ll need to wash up, and he needs to be much cleaner before we take that bandage off.”

Ryan watched Eyepatch leave, wondering how he knew Alvarez was wounded. He turned back to the table. Alvarez’ shirt was hiked up on one side, and the grimy blood-stained bandage was showing, clear as day. The blood looked fresh, and Ryan brought his hands up to check it, but they were filthy. Eyepatch was right; they should at least clean up enough to keep the bandages from becoming filthy. If he was offering clean water, Ryan wasn’t about to refuse it.

He turned to the lamp, wanting to bring it closer to Alvarez, so he could see him clearer. It sat on that side dresser, illuminating a dusty, old painting that made Ryan laugh. There was a competition of some sort going on, racing boats, but not the kind with engines. Eight men were all lined up in a row in each dinky little boat, and all of them were facing the wrong way. Where the hell did they think they were rowing? The only one facing the right direction was the man in the back seat. 

All along the shore of the river were people cheering them on, dressed in old-fashioned clothes – women in long skirts and fancy hats, the men all in suits and sporty little caps that must have been popular a hundred years before Ryan was born. He felt a heavy twinge of nostalgia. Not for those times, because he hadn’t been around, and probably wouldn’t have like that time anyway, since there was no TV, or refrigerators, or even electric lights. 

What he was yearning for was a time before monsters. Even when he was in Oz, he was better off than he was now. That was some fucked up shit – he’d rather be in prison than here in this world. At least in prison he knew he had three hots and a cot. Yeah, there was danger all around him, but in Oz, he’d known what the monsters looked like, and what they wanted. He knew how to deal with them – he was _good_ at dealing with them. But now, the monsters made all the rules, and you had to play by them, or you died.

And what he wouldn’t give for a shower. He’d never been this disgustingly filthy in his life. No matter how much he’d hated his life when he was in prison, he’d go back in a minute. Things were easier before the monsters showed up.

He turned his back on the painting, and brought the lamp over, nearer to Alvarez, and was sorry he’d done it. The guy looked like crap, pale, grayish skin, all sweaty, but without putting his filthy hands on him, Ryan couldn’t tell if he had a fever, or a chill. Either was no good, at least to Ryan’s mind. Not that he knew much about it. He may have worked in the infirmary for a few years, back when Gloria was around to make it worth the trouble, but all he’d ever done was empty bedpans and give sponge baths to drug addicts, and stabbing victims. 

Oh. Well, at least that would come in handy when Eyepatch showed up with the hot water. He could clean Alvarez up, and hopefully the other guy knew how to help Alvarez after he was done, ‘cause otherwise, they’d both be shit out of luck.


	2. Part Two

Ryan awoke disoriented. At first, he thought he was back in the farmhouse he and Alvarez had taken over a few months after they broke out of Oz. There’d been no one in the big old house, but they’d found three fresh graves back behind the garden, and someone’s bones lying over the biggest grave. They gave what was left of the guy a decent burial, and then took over the house. 

It was harvest time, but they were lost as to what to do about it. They picked through the garden for the stuff they recognized, and had any interest in eating, but once the winter set in, they ate mostly canned foods they’d found at the nearby grocery stores. Fortunately, they’d been smart enough to cut plenty of firewood, since the winters got pretty harsh in the Northeast. They’d done all right for themselves, but when the spring came along, they’d been ready to move on. 

That’s why Ryan knew he wasn’t back at the farmhouse. That had been four months ago. He hadn’t regretted moving on, but once they got close to the city, comfortable beds had been hard to come by. The monsters pretty much owned this territory, and they’d never have stuck around if Ryan hadn’t felt the need to search for his family. Alvarez had understood. He knew his family was dead, or he might have felt the same way.

Ryan stretched, and grinned at the feel of someone in bed with him. It felt good having Alvarez in his bed. His warm body felt right pressed up next to Ryan’s. That seemed so strange. He’d never been attracted to a man in his life. Not before Alvarez. At least that he could remember. But his dad was as homophobic an asshole as Ryan’d ever known, and he’d beat that into his sons. He may have had attractions, but if he had he’d repressed them so far back that it was useless to even think about them. 

Besides, you had to be careful when you were inside, ‘cause if someone got past your defenses, and pragged you, you’d be a prag for as long as you lived. So being a fag in prison came with a hell of a lot of risks, unless you liked being someone else’s bitch. Alvarez had been lucky. Ryan had watched as his life had fallen apart, and he’d been seduced by Torquemada and his little green pills. But despite the control that queen had over the drug trade in Oz, and despite the control he’d exerted over Alvarez, from the outside, Alvarez had been the one doing the fucking, and in Oz, that made all the difference in the world.

Ryan hadn’t really known Alvarez all that well back then. They’d circled around each other, but never done more than play poker, or chess. It was only when the world had begun falling apart, and people started dropping like flies that their worlds had really intersected. There were maybe two dozen men still alive in Oz the day they found out they were getting transferred out. The hacks were combining all the prisons in the state, and putting them in one spot so they could keep a better eye on them. But with people dying left and right, it could easily happen that one day no one would show up to open their cell doors in the morning. And they’d starve to death waiting for a hack that was never coming.

They hadn’t killed the hacks they overpowered; most of them would be dead within a week, in any event, so why bother? A lot of men headed out on their own, but Ryan, Beecher, Alvarez, Rebadow, some kid named Pablo, and a few more had stuck together. The others had died one after the other, and they’d buried them where they fell, and moved on. When the two of them had landed at that farmhouse, Ryan had expected that one or the other would be dead in a month. But it hadn’t happened. 

Instead, they’d had fun. They’d joked around and played cards, and Alvarez had taught two-left-feet Ryan O’Reily to dance the salsa, and Ryan had taught never-held-a-sewing-needle-in-my-life Alvarez how to mend his own clothes. They’d become friends, and somewhere along the line, Ryan had fallen in love.

From the way Alvarez had reacted when Ryan had admitted his interest yesterday, he was pretty sure that he’d fucked up any chance for the two of them. Maybe they’d stay friends for a while, but maybe Alvarez would be too uncomfortable to stay near him. In that case, he should take advantage of the opportunity, and savor every second of time he had left with Alvarez. Ryan lay in bed, and imagined how it might have happened if he’d handled things differently, and fell asleep listening to Alvarez breathe.

* * *

When Ryan had been growing up, he’d always woken up slowly. His head would lag behind his body. He’d stretch and yawn, languid and easy, while his mind hid under the blankets, and begged for ten more minutes. Once he landed in Oz that had changed, because as soon as the doors buzzed open in Em City, you had to be outside and waiting for count, or you caught shit from the hacks. And once you stepped outside those doors, your world was not safe anymore, and you had to be wide awake if you wanted to live through the day.

Things had changed once people started dropping like flies, and the monsters started taking over the world, but they didn’t get much easier. Even in their farmhouse out in the country, there had been dangers to be faced. They’d fought off crazy bikers, and rednecks with big ass trucks and shotguns in the back windows. They’d chased off more than one pack of wild dogs, and even wild pigs, for Christ’s sake! The cars and trucks that occasionally drove by were sometimes full of monsters with horns and green skin, or scales, or slime, but as long as they didn’t cause him and Alvarez any trouble, he didn’t give a fuck if they drove with hands, or claws, or even flippers.

While they were traveling was the worst. If they didn’t come across a place they could lock up, or at least shove big heavy furniture across the doors and windows, they had to sleep out in the open, and you never knew what the fuck you’d find staring at you when you woke up. If you were lucky, it would be a fox or a deer, but if you weren’t, what was staring back at you might be the last thing you ever saw. The habit was ingrained, by now, and Ryan’s eyes popped open as he tested out his senses, figuring out where he’d crashed the night before. 

The light was dim, but he remembered, as soon as he realized his head was on Alvarez’ shoulder. He hadn’t been that close when he went to bed; he must have migrated in Alvarez’ direction in his sleep. Harris had just assumed that they’d sleep together. At least he hadn’t offered up the couch, so once they had the fresh bandage on Alvarez’ gut wound, Ryan had cleaned up, washed his hair – thank Christ – and crawled into bed next to Alvarez. 

He slipped his hand down, across Alvarez’ abs, to check out the site of the wound. The flesh around the bandage was still hot, but it didn’t feel as feverish as it had last night. That was good. He slid his hand back up, and rested it on Alvarez’ chest again. It felt comfortable there, and he was still sleepy. He was fairly sure they were safe here; this place was locked up tighter than a nun’s pussy. His choices were to be a paranoid asswipe, or accept the hospitality being offered, and go back to sleep. He chose sleep.

The next time he woke up, Alvarez’ hand was on top of his where it rested on Alvarez’ chest. He liked it just where it was, but if Alvarez woke up, he might object, and that would ruin Ryan’s good mood. Besides, he had to piss, and he’d rather not do it in the bed. He slowly pulled his hand out from under Alvarez’, but then Alvarez’ hand clamped down hard on his wrist, arresting his movement.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Alvarez growled at him, his morning voice even lower and scratchier than his normal voice. Christ. That lit a fire in Ryan’s gut, but then, since he’d figured out he was falling for Alvarez, pretty much everything the guy did lit a fire in Ryan’s gut. 

He cleared his throat. “Ummm… I gotta piss.”

“Oh. Okay.” Alvarez’ hand relaxed. “That’s cool.” Ryan started to pull his hand out, and Alvarez clamped down again. “You’re coming back, right?” 

“Well, I was thinking I might go see if I could scrounge up some breakfast. Harris said we should help ourselves to whatever was in the kitchen.”

Alvarez nodded. “Breakfast is good.”

Ryan remembered Harris had warned him last night about what not to touch. “Except the Twinkies. Harris said don’t touch the Twinkies.”

“Harris?”

“Eyepatch. The guy with the patch. His name is Harris. Xander Harris.”

“Huh.” Alvarez’ shrug made Ryan’s head bounce on his shoulder. “Weird name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. But I didn’t say…”

“Yeah, probably not a good idea,” Alvarez agreed. “How long do you think we can stay here?”

“He said they’d be here for a week or so.” Ryan was hoping they could stay that whole time. It would give Alvarez time to heal.

“They?”

“Yeah, there’s a guy named Spark, or Spike, or something like that, and a couple of girls. He didn’t say their names.”

“You met them all?”

“No, just Harris. The others were out somewhere. He didn’t say where.”

“Okay.” Alvarez yawned as he spoke. He was still sleepy. Maybe Ryan should let him sleep a while longer before he looked for breakfast. “You go piss. But come back here before you go out, okay? We need to talk.”

“All right.” Alvarez didn’t seem in any hurry to let Ryan’s hand go, but since that was the one he aimed with, he figured he might need it. “Can I have my hand back.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Alvarez let go, and Ryan slid his hand out. Alvarez shivered as Ryan’s hand slid across his skin, and Ryan’s gut did that fire thing again. 

Jesus. He didn’t know what all this hand holding shit was about, but he sure as hell hoped it was a good sign, ‘cause if they got this up close and physical very often, and Alvarez didn’t want to have sex, Ryan was going to end up spending all his time jerking off. 

When he got back, he sat on the edge of the bed, and reached for the matches. If he lit the candle on the table by the bed, Ryan could see Alvarez better, and he’d be able to better judge how he felt. 

Alvarez turned onto his good side, moving carefully. He was obviously still in pain. He’d try to keep this as short as he could. If Ryan got Alvarez upset, he’d make himself sicker. 

“Listen, I know you’re not happy with what I told you yesterday…”

Alvarez interrupted him before he could get any farther. “What? No. Not upset. Well, maybe some, but just because I was thinking about how much _time_ we wasted.”

“Wasted?” 

“I never let myself think about you like that, because you were always so quick to say you were no fag, and our friendship was too important to fuck it up, but…”

“Wait. You mean…” Ryan died out, unsure exactly _what_ Alvarez was saying. 

“I can’t say I love you, ‘cause I don’t think I really know what that word means, but I’m willing to try and find out if I can, if that’s enough for you.” 

Alvarez’ eyes were begging him to understand. Ryan could never win an argument when he got those begging eyes out. Not that there was an argument. Ryan was perfectly fine with that compromise. He could make Alvarez love him. No, he could make _Miguel_ love him. He knew he could. All he needed was time.

Ryan couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face, and Miguel’s slow, seductive smile was worth all the anguish and worry he’d put himself through for the last three or four months, since he figured out what was going on in his mind. 

Miguel cocked his head with a ‘come hither’ look, and Ryan scrambled into the bed so fast he couldn’t remember how he got there. He rested on his side, so they were looking at each other, and Miguel ran his hand across Ryan’s face, following the line of his jaw until he could wrap his fingers around the back of Ryan’s neck, and pull him forward into a soft, gentle kiss.

Ryan leaned into that kiss, moaning against Miguel's lips. He wanted this so badly. He was afraid he'd rush Miguel, and scare him off. But then, Miguel was the one with all the experience. When it came to men, _Ryan_ was the virgin. And wasn't that a kick in the pants? But Ryan was okay with that, since it was Miguel on the other side of the kiss. Miguel would take care of him. 

The fire in his gut spread out into the rest of his body in a rush when Miguel ran his tongue along the crease of Ryan’s lips. God, yes. Ryan opened his mouth. Miguel’s tongue entered, and Ryan moaned, pulling Miguel closer to him as their tongues explored each other’s mouths, sending Ryan’s fire even higher. He had one hand on Miguel’s side, and he slid it down, intent on finding his way to Alvarez’ ass, but he hit the bulky bandage, and Miguel gasped, pulling back, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, shit, man. I’m sorry, Miguel. Sorry, man.”

Alvarez was breathing heavily, holding his stomach above the bandage. “It’s okay,” he said breathily, “I’m okay.” He rolled carefully onto his back. “Maybe we should hold off on getting too physical for now. I feel like a ninety year old, all weak and shaky. Shouldn’t this be getting better by now?”

“You’ve got an infection, Miguel; it’s going to take some time to heal. All that running yesterday didn’t help. You started bleeding again. You probably ripped open something that was trying to mend.” Ryan rested his hand on Miguel’s arm. “Why don’t I see if I can find something for you to eat.”

Miguel shook his head. “Give me some time, man. I’d probably puke it up if I ate now. Just let me rest for a while, okay?”

Ryan tucked the blanket up around Miguel. “Yeah, all right. Maybe Harris will come in later, and take a look. He put some stitches in your stomach last night. Said he’d talk to you, find out if you were allergic to anything, ‘cause he has some antibiotics he’ll give you, to try and fight that infection.”

“Stitches, huh?” Miguel closed his eyes. “Yeah, antibiotics sound good. Lemme sleep for a bit, first, okay, Ryan?” His words were slurred, and he drifted off to sleep while Ryan watched.

He got up, the taste of Miguel’s mouth still on his tongue. He couldn’t fight his grin. They’d kissed, and they’d do more, once Miguel was feeling better. Yesterday, he thought he’d blown his chance with Miguel, blurting out his feelings like that. But it had worked out for the best, after all. If they hadn’t been facing death, he might never have admitted how he felt to Miguel. But things were going to change, now. 

He just needed to be careful. No games. No lying. He’d fucked up in the past, with all his schemes. He always found a way to fuck over those he loved. He had to be honest with Miguel if he wanted this to last. He’d just have to play his cards right, and this would work out. He knew it would.


	3. Part Three

“So you bring them into our home?”

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about.” That was Harris. “They’re okay. They aren’t going to kill us in our sleep, or let demons in through the back door.” 

“How the bloody hell do you know that?” 

“Intuition. Give them a chance.”

“Just like that.”

“Hey, come on. Let’s not argue about this. It’s over and done with. They’re here, it’s too late to do anything about it. You can meet them when they wake up. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

“They’re already awake. Or one of them is, anyroad.”

Ryan swallowed. It sounded like he’d been made. Not like he was hiding. He’d heard the arguing, and decided to wait and see how it came out. If he had an enemy, he needed to know sooner than later. And the guy with the British accent was not sounding friendly.

He came around the corner, his friendliest, ‘meeting the parents’ grin plastered firmly on his face. “Hey. Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But it sounded like you were arguing, and I wasn’t sure if I should come on in or not.”

Harris was on the far side of the room, an annoyed frown on his face, and his bandaged foot propped up on a coffee table, next to a large clear glass vase that looked completely out of place. Ryan hoped Harris’ frown was for British guy, and not for Ryan. 

Leaning up against the closest wall was the whitest man Ryan had ever seen. The yellow glow of the oil lamp usually softened people’s features, and disguised a number of flaws, but every hard line on this guy’s body stood out, angry and bristling. Even his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut. And why the hell was he wearing a heavy, leather coat in the middle of June? 

“Don’t worry about it Ryan, he can be a real asshole when he tries.” 

The guy barked out a laugh, and stalked across the floor, stopping five feet away, his eyes burning holes in Ryan, as the guy checked him out thoroughly. 

“I take that back,” Harris said. “He doesn’t have to try at all.”

The sneer on the guy’s face was cruel and dangerous. Ryan felt like an antelope that had been tossed into a lion’s cage. No guesses needed to tell what side of the food chain this bastard was on. If it wasn’t Ryan he was trying to intimidate, he would have had a good deal of respect for the guy’s style. It took a lot to impress Ryan, and this guy did it, even if his hair _was_ dyed radioactive blond.

Ryan held out his hand, smile firmly in place. “You must be Spark.”

There was a snort from the other side of the room.

Spark ignored his hand, and stepped well inside Ryan’s personal space. “The name’s _Spike_ , and I don’t think I like you.”

Ryan clenched tight on the part of him that wanted to go running off into the bathroom and hide until the big, bad, mean guy went away. He forced himself not to back down, and not to turn away from the deadly glare in the piercing blue eyes. 

“Oh, shit!” He dropped his hand. Obviously, Spike wasn’t into polite. “Sorry about that. Honest mistake.” 

Yikes. If he was trying to earn points with this one, fucking up his name was not a good start. And he did want to make a good impression. He liked it here. This apartment was completely without windows, and the walls were heavy, reinforced concrete. The entrance they’d used to get in was one of three, and the other two were as well protected as that one had turned out to be. If they were going to have to stay still while Miguel got well, this was definitely a good place to hole up. No wonder Harris had called it The Bunker. As airtight as this place was, he was surprised at how fresh the air smelled.

He wondered why these people were still in the city. Most humans he’d met had hightailed it out to greener pastures first chance they got. There were too many monsters in town, and they had to eat something. Ryan had heard rumors of humans held hostage in pens, kept alive to serve as food for their captors. Now that Ryan was certain that his mother wasn’t here, he no longer had anything holding him in town. They’d been on their way out when they’d run up against the tall, skinny monsters with the sharp knives that had practically gutted Miguel. Once he was healed, they were gone; Ryan couldn’t imagine staying in the city any longer than absolutely necessary. 

After a silent battle of wills that felt long enough for his unborn children to grow up and have children of their own, Spike relented, taking a step back and turning away, putting his back to Ryan in a silent display of arrogance. Nothing proved how big your balls were like turning your back on an enemy. He busied himself at a bar Ryan hadn’t noticed the night before. Or was it night now? His senses were all screwed up. Without windows, it could be any time of the day at all.

Harris turned to Ryan, totally ignoring Spike, who poured himself a huge tumbler of Jack Daniels, and swigged about half of it without blinking an eye. The guy must have a cast iron stomach.

“How’s Alvarez?” Harris’ question caught him off guard.

“Oh.” Ryan switched gears, and tried hard to find his polite face again. “Uh, he’s all right. He’s not clammy anymore. I think just having a place to rest is doing him a world of good.”

Harris nodded. “Did you check the wound?”

“No, I didn’t want to wake him. But I felt around it. It’s still feverish, but not as much as yesterday.”

“I’ll check it later, when he wakes up. Maybe I can get some antibiotics in him. Did you ask him if he was allergic to anything?”

“I mentioned it, but I don’t think he knows of anything. He didn’t say anything to me, anyway.” Ryan was really curious about the ‘girls’ Harris had mentioned last night. If this was Spike, what were the other two going to be like? “Did the rest of your roommates come back, too?”

“Why do you care?” Spike asked.

“Spike!” Spike seemed to be finally getting to Harris, who’d treated him like an overgrown baby, so far. But this time, his response had bite to it.

“No, it’s a legitimate question.” Ryan concentrated on Harris, and ignored Spike entirely. “To be honest, if we’re getting kicked out, I’d like to know as soon as possible, so I can try and find someplace safer than our last bolt hole.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Harris reassured him.

“Lucky for you,” Spike sneered.

“The girls aren’t here because they’re trapped.” Harris’ words were clipped, and Ryan got the idea he was a lot more worried about them than he let on.

“Trapped?” Jesus. It was one problem into the next here. He’d be happy when they finally got the hell out of the city. “What happened?”

“They went into an underground parking garage that had collapsed, trying to get a girl out, and they got trapped by three of those Jaarvleen Flesh Eaters.”

“More of them? Jesus, they’re everywhere.”

“More than usual, yeah. There are usually only four or five in a territory, maybe six. They form a clan, and keep all the others out, protecting their territory for their young. But there are three clans in the city, all working for a couple of enterprising demons who’ve started a retail business selling human flesh.”

“Christ.” Ryan felt sick just thinking about that. “I’ve heard about those. I was hoping it was all someone’s rather vivid imagination.”

“No, it’s real. The Jaarvleen track down humans, then they take them back to their masters. They get to take home one out of every six they find.”

“So they eat them?” He held himself back from joking about how they cook them. It didn’t seem to be the best time for an off-color joke, even if it would make him feel better.

“Not at first.” Spike took over relating the facts. Ryan was sure that wasn’t a good sign. “Each clan usually has two calves at a time. They use their food to train their young. They let you go, then let the kids catch you. Then they let you go again…and again, and again.” 

Ryan had run from these guys all morning, yesterday. They were hard as hell to shake, and he knew that they’d be even more vigilant with their young around. He fought down a shudder. 

“Once you can’t run any longer, they strip the flesh right off your bones, while you’re still alive.” Spike’s eyes bored into his. It was obvious the bastard got a sick thrill telling shit like that to unsuspecting strangers. 

Ryan fought back his wince. Good thing there was nothing in his stomach, or he’d have probably puked it all over Harris’ bandaged ankle. And if anyone deserved that, it wasn’t Harris.

“Spike.” This time Harris was the long-suffering parent - ‘what did I ever do to deserve this?’ He could pack a lot into one word.

“Wot? It’s true, ain’t it?” That accent of Spike’s was getting on Ryan’s nerves. 

“That’s all right. I’ve heard worse.” Two can play those games. “At least they don’t plant their eggs in your brains. I heard about those guys, too.” He’d been fairly certain that it was a fairy tale at the time, but his experiences in the city had changed his mind about a lot of things. 

“You mean the N’spogar?” Harris shuddered. “Yeah, those guys are bad news.” 

Ryan knew he’d started this round, but he needed to change the subject before it got any worse. “What are you going to do about your girls? Are you going after them?” He had no idea if the girls were their children, girlfriends, sisters, or whatever, but he’d be damned if he was going to ask. 

Spike took a gulp of JD, right from the bottle. Jesus. That guy’s liver must be pickled. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He set the bottle on the bar. “I just came back to get some supplies. I’ll head out as soon as it’s dark. I’ll bring ‘em home with me by tomorrow night.” That last sounded like a promise, and it was delivered directly to Harris, who had his arms wrapped around his waist in a classic pose of worry. 

Ryan was in shock. The guy just drained most of a bottle of J.D., and he was going out after dark, to fight three of those bastard Jaarvleen? “Just you, against three of them?” 

“What? You think bringing you with would even up the odds?” Spike was arrogant, but this seemed a bit much. There had to be something he was missing.

“I hadn’t planned on it, but it couldn’t hurt.” Why did he feel like he’d just been suckered? And why was he agreeing to this? Ryan wasn’t seriously considering this. Was he?

“You could use the distraction, Spike.” Harris was considering this as a legitimate alternative. Why was he doing that? “If you can get them from behind, they’ll be a lot easier to take out.”

Spike stared at Ryan, as if gauging his worth, his determination. “You volunteering, little man?”

Ryan drew himself up to his full six-foot, one-and-a-half inches; he had a good four inches on Spike. “Who are you calling little?”

“You may have a few inches on him, O’Reily, but he’s got over a hundred years of fighting experience behind him, he’s not going to go down easy.”

What? “A hundred years?”

Ryan wanted to wipe that sneer off Spike’s face more than anything he could think of. Well, except for Miguel. He wanted Miguel more. But Spike was in his face, and he hated that.

“You didn’t think I was human, did you, little man?”

Was Spike a monster? He didn’t look like one, but he’d heard that some of them were able to disguise their features to look more human. “What the hell are you, then?”

Spike’s face morphed into a sharply defined, heavily-ridged mask, with baleful golden eyes. Then he opened his mouth, and his teeth, his eye teeth were long and razor sharp. It came to Ryan in a rush, exactly what he was looking at. A shock of ice water ran through his veins, stunning him, but invigorating him at the same time. 

“Vampire!”

“Got it in one.” 

Spike stalked around behind Ryan, who found it extremely difficult to stand still. But he was damned if he was going to let Spike see him panic. He came up close behind Ryan, and Ryan stared straight ahead, his heart pounding, but he refused to move as Spike brought those sharp teeth up next to Ryan’s ear, to whisper into it. 

“What a smart little boy you are.”

Ryan had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Are you always this big of a prick?”

There was a sharp snap as Spike brought his teeth together a hair’s breadth from the back of Ryan’s neck. 

“Stop antagonizing the human that’s volunteered to go out and help you get Renee and Sofia back.” Harris had his arms crossed over his chest, and that was his no nonsense look.

Ryan wanted to say he had no intention of doing any such thing, he was just trying to irritate Spike, but that was lost when Miguel walked into the room.

“Miguel!” Ryan moved over to take Miguel by the arm, and lead him to a chair. He couldn’t express how thankful he was to have a reason to move away from Spike. “Sit down.” 

Miguel frowned at Ryan as he settled him in the chair. He crossed his hands over his chest, and imitated Harris’ no nonsense look. “Who are you going to help them rescue?”


	4. Part Four

How the hell did Ryan talk himself into this? Here he was, marching through the dark streets of the most dangerous part of the city, next to a vampire, of all things, on his way to save some Super Girls from three of the biggest fucking monsters he’d ever seen in his entire life. If he lived through this, he was never opening his big fat mouth again. Ever. 

Miguel had been pissed as hell, and Ryan couldn’t blame him. They’d been a couple for less than two hours before Ryan was going on a fucking suicide mission because he couldn’t back down to a prick like Spike. Spike hadn’t helped – laughing about how Miguel obviously wore the pants in their relationship – and Ryan’s already bruised male ego made an appearance, and it was all downhill from there. Even if he _did_ make it through the night, Ryan wasn’t at all sure if Miguel would ever talk to him again.

Ryan’s only consolation was the hand grenade in his jacket pocket. Harris’ army jacket had been way too big, but the flack jacket had fit, once they tightened all the straps. He wasn’t sure what good a Kevlar vest was going to do him if one of those Jaarvleen bastards pulled his head off his shoulders, but it made Miguel happy, so he was wearing it. Well, maybe happy was stretching the point a bit, but it had helped, so he wore it. 

But the important thing was the grenade. Harris wouldn’t be happy when he found out Ryan had stolen his lucky hand grenade, but it was the only grenade he had, and carrying it, and knowing that if he lobbed it at Spike’s head, he’d be dead, even if he was a vampire, made it worth the trouble of stealing it. He kept wondering exactly how much trouble he’d be in if he came back without Spike. Fuck, if the girls didn’t see it happen, they’d have to take Ryan’s word for it that the Jaarvleens had dusted Spike. There was nothing they expected him do if Spike was in danger, anyway. He was just there as bait. They didn’t expect Ryan to save Spike’s life or anything.

Miguel had a bad habit of knowing when Ryan lied to him, though. If he lied about this, he’d have to be careful in the future to never let it slip. Miguel wouldn’t approve of Ryan killing Spike, even if he was a vampire. He’d say that the fact that he has a soul made it murder, that Spike was doing good in the world. Even in the crap pile they lived in, he was saving lives. Ryan didn’t care. He just wanted Miguel to be able to stay somewhere safe. And there wasn’t a safer place in the city than that fortress they called The Bunker. If Spike weren’t around to influence Harris, Harris would invite them to stay. He was sure of that.

The girls that lived there were some kind of superhero girls, with superhuman strength and speed, and all that shit. Slayers, they’d called them. They didn’t need Spike. And Spike was an ass. He didn’t deserve to live after the way he’d embarrassed Miguel before they left. No one had the right to do that to Miguel. To either of them. They deserved to be happy for once, and if this was what it took, then Ryan said, “Sayonara, Spike!” Fucking asshole.

* * *

The bazooka had been an inspired move. Or whatever it was. It had been impressive. Spike had settled Ryan in his safe corner, and gone around the other way. Ryan had asked what the signal was for him to get out there and attract the attention of the other Jaarvleen, and Spike had said he’d know it when he saw it. Stupid prick. 

At least he _would_ see it. The night was clear, and without the pollution and the lights, the almost full moon shone brightly, making everything crisp and vivid in the night air. Ryan had waited, looking around the area nervously, because there were only two monsters hunkered down in front of the rubble that was hiding the Slayers and their charge. The third Jaarvleen seemed to have disappeared. 

From time to time, one of the monsters would try to climb down into the rubble to get the girls, but they always gave up. Spike said that they were very easily tipped over, but it was almost impossible for them to get back up again afterwards without help, so they were very careful about uneven surfaces. Too bad Miguel and Ryan hadn’t known that when the bastards were tracking them all over town.

So Ryan waited, and watched for the chance to get rid of Spike. Then Spike had grabbed something long out of the huge bag he’d been carrying, and fiddled with it for a minute. He stood up, put this tube on his shoulder, and ka-boom! The Jaarvleen on the left had exploded into tiny little pieces. Ryan hadn’t even realized he’d stood up until he caught himself jumping up and down and hooting. That had been awesome! He realized what he was doing when it was already too late. The other Jaarvleen was charging Ryan’s direction, well, as much as one of those things could _charge_ , anyway. 

He’d gotten so caught up in the moment, that he hadn’t even remembered that one way he’d considered to get rid of Spike was to neglect to provide the distraction Ryan’d come to supply. But it was too late for that now. He backed up into his sheltered spot, and swallowed rapidly, because it looked like Spike might have had the same thoughts Ryan had. He was not stopping the Jaarvleen, and it was getting closer every moment. He couldn’t even see Spike. What the hell was he doing?

Then Spike and some tall, slender girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen pulled themselves out of the rubble of the parking garage, and took off at a run in Ryan’s direction. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That was close. The two of them traded blows with the monster, going back and forth with hands and axe and sword. The girl looked so slender and frail that the first blow of the Jaarvleen’s hand should have crushed her, but it was like nothing could stop her. Or Spike. Ryan had to admit, as much as he hated the guy, that bastard could fight. 

It made Ryan dizzy watching the way they twirled and spun, slicing and hacking away at the monster, slowly wearing it down until it was struggling to stay on its feet. It went down on one knee, and Ryan was ready to start cheering, again, despite the fact that he didn’t think there was a way to set up Spike with the Slayer on hand.

Out of nowhere, the Slayer flew backwards away from the fight, rolling hard across the pavement, and not getting up again. Ryan’s heart stood still as the third Jaarvleen walked into his view, and slowly advanced on Spike and the other monster. Spike cut hard into the ankle of the one he was fighting, chopping into the bone, and the Jaarvleen went down, dangerously close to where Ryan hid. He held his breath, but the monster started rolling in the other direction, trying to get on its front, probably so it could crawl away. Its ankle was hanging loose – barely attached, Spike’s strength was obviously suited for that bigass battleaxe that Xander had looked so ridiculous holding just yesterday. 

Past the crippled monster, Spike was trading blows with the other one in the middle of the street. Fighting one on one, Ryan could see that Spike alone was not a match for a Jaarvleen. He needed someone to distract the monster by trading blows with it, the way the Slayer had done before she’s gotten the shit knocked out of her and gone rolling across the street. Maybe he wouldn’t need to do a thing for this to end happily ever after for Ryan.

That was when the subway entrance he’d been hiding in crumbled around him, and he found himself held tightly in the huge mitts of the injured Jaarvleen, which had dragged itself up onto its knees, and was knee-walking toward the other monster, which seemed to be getting the best of his fight with Spike. Ryan shouted loudly, but he could tell that Spike was caught up in the fight with his own monster, and would be of no use to him. 

The monster was holding Ryan tightly enough that he couldn’t pull his arms loose, which meant he couldn’t reach Harris’ damned grenade. And the gun on his hip was just as inaccessible. Unless the monster chose to let go of him, he was shit out of luck. His gut churned. He’d really screwed up this time. His ego had been taking a hitting, so he’d let his pride get in the way, and now he was truly fucked. He struggled, kicking at the monster, but it shook him enough to wrench his neck, so he stopped struggling, hoping he’d be in better shape to try and make a run for it if he got a chance.

He saw Spike fly across the street, and land on a parked car, the windshield cracking under him, that huge battleaxe still clutched in one hand. The Jaarvleen reached out to pick him up, and Spike swung that axe, lopping the monster’s hand off cleanly at the wrist. He slid off the car, and sprinted in Ryan’s direction, his vampire face to the fore, and an angry scream tearing out of his throat. Ryan was stunned. He was coming for Ryan? That just made no sense.

Ten feet away from Ryan’s captor, Spike took a huge, dramatic leap in the air, and Ryan ducked as the battleaxe soared through the air, slicing deep into the monster’s neck as Spike hurtled past him. He continued his flight, leaving the axe behind him, as the Jaarvleen slowly toppled to the ground, taking Ryan down with it. 

Ryan struck his head on the sidewalk as they fell, and he lay there stunned for a moment, before he felt the fingers of the monster slowly release in his death. Ryan pulled himself loose, struggling to stand up, as the world spun and warbled around him. He struggled to avoid tossing the meal he’d eaten before they started this whole cluster fuck of a rescue. When he was finally able to focus clearly, he found Spike in the middle of the street, fighting with the one-handed Jaarvleen.

Spike was bleeding from the temple, the sleeve of his coat was ripped half off, and he was favoring both that arm and leg. He looked terrible, and seemed to be getting the worst of the fight. Ryan tried to pull the battleaxe out of the fallen monster’s neck. He couldn’t move it, it was well stuck, but he had two pistols, and a flak jacket full of ammo. That wouldn’t help much; the Jaarvleen had proven impervious to bullets before. That’s when he realized what he needed to do.

He pulled the hand grenade out of his jacket, and ran in Spike’s direction. His mind was spinning fast and hard, reminding him that he’d planned to let Spike die all along, and wondering when that had changed. He still had time to let it happen. He could let his throw go wide, and let the grenade take them both out. Or just aim at Spike. It would be totally undetectable. 

He saw the moment Spike took in the grenade in Ryan’s hand. He glanced up, into Ryan’s eyes, and nodded. Almost in slow motion, Ryan watched himself pull the pin. Spike stopped fighting, fell to the ground, and as he went rolling across the pavement, Ryan lobbed the grenade right into the face of the monster. 

The blast sent Ryan flying, and he hit hard, rolling into the tire of a car parked at the curb. He lay there, his head and his stomach spinning in opposite directions, until he felt movement nearby. He turned his head, blinking. Slowly Spike came into focus, slouched on the pavement in front of him, blood running down his face, and a dark, ugly bruise forming on his jaw. 

“You’re alive, then?” Spike asked, wiping shaking fingers through the blood on his cheek.

“Like you care.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he’d have shaken his head, if he’d had the energy.

“Nah, if I didn’t bring you back in one piece, Xander’d never forgive me.” He licked the blood off his fingertips. “I wouldn’t get laid for a week.” 

Spike and Harris? Well that explained a lot. He made an extra effort to clear his vision, but Spike was not a pretty sight. “You look like shit, Spike.” His voice was shaky, but he’d managed the whole sentence, and that was an accomplishment he was proud of.

“You look like a piece of shite yourself.” 

Ryan shook his head, until the spinning got to him, and he had to stop. “Now, see, there’s your problem. You’re pronouncing it wrong.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve been speaking the Queen’s English for a hell of a lot more years than your arse has been alive, and I say you’re full of _shite_.”

For some reason, that was the funniest thing Ryan had ever heard. They were both still laughing when the two Slayer-girls and their little friend pulled the two of them to their feet, and practically carried their sorry “arses” home.


	5. Part Five

Miguel moved slowly, his hips grinding into Ryan’s, their hard cocks sliding between their bodies, their hunger ratcheting higher with every move. He murmured into Ryan’s ear, his breath tickling the hair on Ryan’s neck, his words a mix of Spanish and English that Ryan didn’t bother to decipher. It didn’t matter, anyway. They were the same words he’d been saying to Ryan for a month now, all about how much he cared, and how important Ryan was to him, how proud he was that Ryan loved him. 

Ryan held his shoulders tighter, pulling Miguel closer to him, reveling in the power he could feel under his hands. It still caught him unawares sometimes that Miguel was well again, and just as strong as he’d ever been. Ryan had been so worried, so afraid that he might not ever have this, that there were times that it felt wrong that they were so happy now, with so much pain and sorrow all around them.

But he refused to let that spoil his time with Miguel, because there would be time to worry about that stuff later, when Miguel wasn’t lying between his legs, his body pressed against Ryan’s, and his hips moving sinuously as he whispered into Ryan’s ear. He wrapped his legs around Miguel’s thighs to add extra pressure, encouraging him to move faster, thrust harder, push his hips that much closer to Ryan’s. As if they could get any closer than they already were.

Miguel took the hint, and spread his knees, forcing Ryan’s thighs even farther apart. Bracing himself more firmly gave Miguel more leverage, and he changed his pattern, rotating his hips in languid circles that brought their cocks together in a shifting roll, and made Ryan’s breath hitch as pleasure coiled through him. Ryan would never have believed how much he’d love the feel of Miguel’s powerful body moving between his thighs, but now that Miguel’s wound was healed, there was no place he’d rather Miguel be.

He ran his hands down Miguel’s sides, and grabbed his ass, squeezing the firm muscles beneath his palms. Pulling his cheeks apart, Ryan ran one finger down Miguel’s crack, circling his asshole and teasing the puckered skin. He knew what Miguel liked, and he gave it to him, his finger probing as Miguel broke into Spanish curses that he refused to translate. Ryan had been tempted to ask Sofia, but despite her habit of cursing like a sailor, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask a sixteen year old girl what his lover cried out when they were having sex. 

Miguel’s breathing sped up, his shaky breath blowing cool over Ryan’s overheated skin. This was Ryan’s favorite part – he loved it when Miguel lost control. Miguel shifted his knees again, and started to stroke, heavy thrusts that pushed his cock faster into the channel created by Ryan’s cock on one side, and his flat stomach on the other. Ryan responded to his thrusts, and their bodies heaved against each other, pounding together as their need grew. Ryan’s grip on Miguel tightened as their pace grew frantic, greedy to hold onto every second of their passion. He shouted as his orgasm overtook him in a rush of sensation that flooded his senses, thrumming through him in wave after wave of pleasure. 

Miguel continued to move urgently, pistoning his hips fiercely as he drove himself closer to orgasm. Ryan knew what to do, and his hand slipped back, probing Miguel’s ass again, pushing in to the first knuckle and pumping shallowly. Miguel’s body froze as he cried out wordlessly, and Ryan felt with satisfaction the warm pulses of his come fill the spaces between their bodies. He wrapped his arms around his lover as he slumped over Ryan’s body, shuddering through the aftershocks. 

“¡Dulce Madre de Dios!” Miguel murmured into the curve of Ryan’s neck.

Ryan knew what that one stood for. He hadn’t had too many lovers willing to take the Virgin Mary’s name in vain after sex.

“Well, I’m not the Mother of God,” he laughed, “but I appreciate the compliment.”

Miguel struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, so he could look down into Ryan’s face. “You should, querido.” He leaned down, and kissed Ryan, slow and lingeringly, the way Ryan liked best. Then he dropped down onto Ryan’s chest again.

“Ooof!” He squirmed around getting as comfortable as he could, with tacky come drying between their bodies. “You’re not as light as you think.”

Miguel laughed. “But you love me anyway,” he murmured into Ryan’s neck.

Ryan smiled. “Yeah, I do.” As miserable as life was around them, Ryan was surprised to realize that he was as happy as he could ever remember being.

* * *

Spike came stomping through as Ryan stared at the envelope in his hands. Pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf, he swigged down a large slug before plopping into the chair next to the couch, and putting his feet up on the table. He tapped the clear vase in the middle of the table with one muddy boot. 

“Timmy down the bloody well, again?”

Ryan looked up. “Huh?”

“The envelope. Another message from the seer in Cleveland?”

“Oh!” Ryan still thought it was hilarious that the Slayer’s Headquarters communicated with them by shoving a message in a bottle. Okay, so it was a vase, but it was still a riot. He waved the envelope. “Yeah, it just showed up.”

“Open it up, then. We may need to go rescue Timmy. He’s always falling down that damned well.”

Ryan finally got the reference. He guessed he had other things on his mind, today. “You don’t want to do the honors?”

“Nah.” Spike tipped his bottle. “Got better things to do.” He took another slug out of the bottle.

“You know, it’s a large city, but sooner or later, the way you drink, we’re going to run out of J.D.” 

“Guess I’ll take a little road trip to Lynchburg when that happens. Bring back one of them big bloody tanker trucks full of whiskey on the tap. Never been to Tennessee. You?”

“Nah. Never been anywhere except prison. When I was in Oz, I used to dream about getting out and traveling. I traveled all over the world, at least in my imagination. I guess imagination’s all there is left, huh?”

Spike took another drink, looking thoughtful. “I suppose you could travel the Americas, at least, before you had to worry about boats and such. I hear Argentina’s overrun with demons, though, so you’d have to pick and choose your destinations.”

“Monsters,” Ryan corrected him. He figured ‘demons’ was probably more accurate. Hell, Spike had been one for over a hundred years, he ought to know. But it didn’t seem right. 

To Ryan, they were the monsters that had crawled out from under the bed when the humans had finally figured out a way to pretty much kill themselves off. If humans came up with the bug that had killed ninety-nine percent of humanity, did that make it genocide, or suicide? Whatever it was, what was left were the monsters that he’d never actually believed in, until they were no longer outnumbered by humans, and were free to crawl out of the woodwork and take over.

“Demons,” Spike insisted. 

Ryan shrugged. “I say po-tay-toes…”

“ _I_ say who gives a bloody fuck. Open up that envelope, and find out who we’re saving this time.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes as Spike took another couple of huge swallows. A human’s liver would have been pickled a long time ago, but since vampires didn’t actually use their livers, it didn’t really matter, did it? 

He turned up the wick on the oil lamp on the side table, opened the envelope, and pulled out the handwritten note, and the two pages stapled to it. 

_“Salutations, my friends!”_

Spike muttered something about removing this Andrew guy’s spleen through his nose, but Ryan was used to Spike’s opinion of Andrew by now, and ignored the comments from the peanut gallery. 

_“Lydia informs me that there’s a group of approximately fifteen humans being held by a tribe of…”_ he guessed on the pronunciation of this one, _“Skil-osh Demons (see attached map for location.)”_

“Skilosh? Bleeding hell, those buggers are a pain in the arse!”

_“From what she can tell, they’ll be implanting their spawn in the human’s brains in a ceremony to happen, she believes, tomorrow night. You might want to try to get to them tonight, if possible, in case she’s wrong on the timing. I’ve included all the details she remembers. Get in touch if you have questions, and let us know if we can help in any way. Be safe, my friends! Andrew.”_

“Skilosh, Spike?” 

Ryan looked up to see Xander standing in the doorway, Renee standing beside him.

“I don’t know that one. These guys tough?” Renee didn’t say a lot, but she didn’t have to. She could kick butt six ways from Sunday, and Ryan was truly in awe of her knowledge of explosives.

“Tough? Nothing a good beheading won’t cure.” Spike put the cap on the bottle of Jack, and stood. “It’s almost dark, we best get saddled up.”

Xander took the note from Ryan, and took a look at the attached map. “It’s over by the bridge, we should take transportation.”

Renee jumped up and down on the balls of her feet, reminding Ryan how young these Slayers were. When they were kicking ass, it was hard to remember, but when they were acting like teenagers it amazed him that they fought these monsters every day.

“Can I drive?” she asked eagerly.

“Bloody hell, no!” Spike shouted from the weapons room.

“You guys never let me have any fun!” 

She disappeared into the weapons room to pester Spike, from the _stop thats_ and _bloody hells_ Ryan heard.

“What’s up?” Miguel walked in, and immediately Ryan’s panic started to ratchet up, knowing what was coming next. 

“We’ve got a job,” Xander told him. “Hopefully, we’ll be bringing home a number of people. They’ll probably need first aid, food and water.” Despite knowing that they always were happy to help, Xander was careful to ask when he needed assistance. “I know you guys aren’t working for us, but do you think...”

“Ryan and I wanted to talk to you about that,” Miguel interrupted. 

“What’s up?” Xander’s frown was heavy. Ryan bet he thought the two of them would be leaving, soon.

“We were thinking of taking you up on your offer to stay here and help out.”

“Doesn’t look like O’Reily is too sure of that,” Spike said, as he walked into the room. “It won’t work if you’re not both convinced it’s the right thing to do.”

Miguel pulled Ryan to his feet, holding onto his hand, tracing the four-leaf clover tattooed between Ryan’s thumb and forefinger. “He agrees with me that it’s a job that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t mean he agrees that you two are the ones to do it.” Xander walked over to Spike, and they stood as a united front - it was easy to tell from the way they looked at each other: they believed in what they were doing.

“I told you how I feel,” Miguel told them. “I need to make up for the harm I’ve done in this world. It’s what’s right.”

“You agree with him, then?” Spike asked Ryan. “It’s what’s right?”

“I understand why he feels the need to help. I can’t say I like it, because I can’t stand the thought of Miguel getting hurt again. You saw how I was when he was hurt last time. That’s what I’m not happy with.” 

Ryan took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to explain a complicated thought that had taken him days to get his head around. In the end, he decided to lay it out simply and honestly. Words didn’t seem to work for him when his emotions were involved. 

“I told Miguel that it was his decision. I’d follow his lead on this. I don’t really give a fuck about making up for past sins, that doesn’t mean a thing to me. But I’m willing to trust in Miguel that it’s the right thing to do, and I’m going to back his play, whatever he decides.”

Xander bit his lip, and looked to Spike hesitantly. Ryan knew that Xander wanted the two of them to stay. He and Miguel had already become good friends in the month they’d been there.

“We could use the help,” Spike said. 

Miguel exhaled noisily, letting go of the breath Ryan hadn’t realized he was holding. His grin showed exactly how much this meant to him.

“Just remember,” Spike said, poking his finger at Miguel. “You’re not the one with the superpowers. Neither of you. You don’t get to do anything more dangerous than I let Xander do. That means _back up_ , not frontline action. Got it?”

Miguel nodded. “I can do back up.”

“And you listen to me and Xander, because we have the experience, here. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Speaking of which,” Xander said, “we’re going to need first aid supplies, water and food for maybe fifteen people. Grab those MRE’s we’ve got stacked in the basement storage. You can leave them downstairs, we’ll be putting anyone who needs shelter on the cots down there. I’ll show you where the extra blankets are kept.”

“Right, Xander, show Alvarez around the bottom floor, then come on up and get ready. We’ll put you in the back with the humans, and O’Reily can drive the truck.”

“Yes sir, General Spike!” Xander sketched a sloppy salute at Spike, and pulled Miguel out of the room, talking happily. “Don’t worry, we let Spike think he’s in charge, ‘cause it makes him happy, but everyone knows that _I’m_ the real power in this city.”

“Oi!” Spike’s shout of indignation went unanswered, and he turned his back on them, rolling his eyes. “We’re gonna need the big first aid kit, just in case. We’ll put it in the back with Xander. Put it in the hall with the weapons bags, then you should grab your guns, and some ammo. Not like you’re gonna need it, but it’s best to be prepared, just in case. Just keep your mitts off Xander’s new lucky hand grenade. We’re never going to hear the last of that.”

Laughing at the memory of that fiasco, Ryan headed for the dining room they humorously called the Infirmary. “Yes sir, General Spork!”

He heard the two Slayers giggling behind him, just before he was shoved face first into the wall so hard that the drywall gave way. 

“Very funny. Just remember who you’re talking to, mate,” Spike whispered into his ear. “I’d have no problem with throwing you over my knee, and spanking your arse raw. Understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it! I got it!” Jesus, some people had no sense of humor.

“Good.” Spike let go, and turned away, the girls disappearing as fast as they’d appeared. 

Ryan brushed crumbles of drywall and flakes of dried paint off his shirt. He kept thinking of Spike as merely an obnoxious human. He had to remember he was an obnoxious _vampire_ , instead. Spike’s strength and speed were way beyond that of a human’s. It didn’t mean that he’d give up pestering the shit out of the guy. Spike deserved every bit of grief Ryan could shovel his direction. 

He’d just have to be more subtle about it in the future. That wouldn’t be a problem; he was good at working behind the scenes. He grabbed the handle of the huge first aid kit they kept stocked for emergencies, grinning as he dragged it into the hallway, already scheming. Miguel had his mission in life, and now Ryan had his. Spike was going to regret he’d ever invited Ryan O’Reily along for the ride. 

As he strapped on his holsters, Ryan laughed at the hard left turn his life had taken. He’d been hoping for a life without monsters, and here he was settling down in Monster Central. 

Spike roared by shouting, “Saddle up, people!” 

Well, at least he’d never be bored. He holstered his guns, and made a quick stop in the weapons room. It wouldn’t do to leave The Bunker without Xander’s lucky grenade, now would it?


End file.
